


The Loneliest Number Since the Number One

by stormproofmatchgirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All the bad shit happens to Dean, Casifer, Dean Needs A Hug, Dean-Centric, Emotional Manipulation, Emotionally Hurt Dean, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M, Mildly sexual violence, Non-Consensual Kissing, Post-The Devil in the Details, Sam is a good brother for like five minutes, Season 11 Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormproofmatchgirl/pseuds/stormproofmatchgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean struggles with the physical and emotional trauma of a brutal encounter with Casifer, and faces some tough choices.</p><p>  <i>“I’m sick of being scared all the time, Cas,” he confesses, failing to keep his voice from cracking. </i></p><p>  <i>Just as he’s about to look up at his friend, Cas lifts his hand to Dean’s face.</i></p><p>   <i>“Cas? Wh-what are you…”</i></p><p>  <i>His thumb strokes Dean’s temple and his fingers graze his hair.  It’s intimate and foreign. And the energy that Dean usually feels flowing from Cas’s body is different, sharper. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loneliest Number Since the Number One

Junction City’s main drag is quiet and covered in snow. Dean’s bare hands—hot and cold at the same time—hug a coffee from Lou’s bakery. The best coffee within 150 miles of the bunker and his excuse for ditching Sam and a pile of research this afternoon.

A few kids are skating on the small rink in the park, lit by strand after strand of white Christmas lights working overtime into January. A couple is taking pictures and laughing as their six-year-old falls on her ass for the third time in fewer minutes. Cute, banal shit like this is just depressing. It’s the accumulation of all these fucking Kodak moments that so many people live for, and Dean gets that. Maybe he gets it even more, since he’s had so damn few of them. 

But if they don’t find a way to stop Amara, this could be that little family’s last Kodak moment ever. And worst of all, Dean will be partly to blame. 

Because he and Amara are… _bonded._

Christ. Sam’s looming and shitty coffee suddenly aren’t looking as unbearable as they did a few hours ago. Maybe this trip into town wasn’t such a hot idea. He walks quickly past the rink and follows a dimly lit path through some trees to a deserted bandstand, the dense snow squeaking under his boots. He sits on a narrow bench under the roof and drinks from his big paper cup, reads the graffiti that’s been carved into the surrounding woodwork.

Hearing the unmistakable fluttering of wings, Dean infers what’s coming next. 

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas is giving him some space for once—leaning back against the railing directly across from him. Whatever shit Lucifer kicked out of him looks like it’s healed. He seems strong, and weirdly… taller. He gives Dean an appraising once-over.

Dean stands up and sets aside his drink. “Cas. Took you long enough. We need to talk.”

“I’m sure we do. Are you… okay? What are you doing out here?”

“Agh. Just… needed some space to think.”

“Dean. What’s been bothering you? I can tell when something’s amiss.”

He hasn’t told anyone. The words won’t come to him at first. “Cas… I…” 

“Is it Amara?”

Of course Cas knows. He always knows, somehow. Dean nods slightly, slouching back against one of the bandstands’ pillars and folding his arms across his chest. “She told me something… I don’t… I don’t know what to do with it.” He looks out into the park, beyond the trees to the lights emanating from distant storefronts, down at his boots and up at the dark sky. “She told me we’re bonded. And I don’t…” 

Cas furrows his brow and takes a few steps closer. “You don’t know the implications? She told you nothing more than this?”

Dean shakes his head and swallows the lump in his throat. “Guess she just wanted to put the fear of _Her_ in me.”

Cas frowns. “I guess it worked.”

Dean can feel his heart beating faster. Why does facing up to his fears always have to be so fucking hard on his system? “The Mark… I’ll never be rid of its curse, will I?” 

“Dean…”

“I’m sick of being scared all the time, Cas,” he confesses, failing to keep his voice from cracking. 

Just as he’s about to look up at his friend, Cas lifts his hand to Dean’s face.

“Cas? Wh-what are you…”

His thumb strokes Dean’s temple and his fingers graze his hair. It’s intimate and foreign. And the energy that Dean usually feels flowing from Cas’s body is different, sharper.

“Please,” Cas whispers, “I’m done pretending.”

Dean swallows hard. Holy shit. Is Cas really doing this? Is this actually happening? 

“Pretending?” This really isn’t helping the racing heart thing.

Cas on the other hand, is uncharacteristically calm.

“I realized something as I was facing Amara. I want to live, Dean. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not afraid of this.” He takes Dean’s hand in his own, entwining their fingers and Dean feels his heart press up against his throat and his eyes widen in shock. Heedless, Cas moves closer, so close that Dean can feel the warmth of Cas’s breath on his face. “Or this.”

Their lips are nearly touching. Cas asks, “Are you?”

Dean leans in to the kiss, his body making the decision before his mind. And for five seconds, he feels strange and wonderful and braver than he’s ever felt hunting monsters or saving the world. It’s terrifying. 

But not really. What’s really terrifying is that Cas’s hand slowly tightens around his own, and now there’s a horrible feeling in the pit of Dean’s stomach. And the look on Cas’s face as he pulls back, like a snake slowly raising it’s venomous fangs over a helpless rodent says that something is very, very wrong.

“Cas?”

A sick smile spreads across his face as he squeezes Dean’s hand even harder. It doesn’t… this can’t be happening. He wants to fight back but all he can manage to do is lean into the pain, gasp as the bones in his hand bend to the edge of breaking, and stare down at the excruciating grip in mute horror.

“Awe. You guys would have made such a cute couple.” 

Dean peers up at the angel and his shit-eating grin. 

Lucifer. 

Fuck. Oh fuck. How could he have been so stupid?

“How did you….” 

“Your buddy Cas is smarter than the rest of you meatheads. Had the sense to say the magic word.”

No. Cas wouldn’t have. Would he? 

“He… he let you in?” 

Lucifer raises his eyebrows, cries, _“I want to live!”_ like he’s George Bailey or something. Apparently, he’s not interested in explanations.

“I know, I know. I’m a bit of a ham. But man, that was fun,” he sighs, and then the smile disappears. “You want some more?”

“What? No…”

“Oh, come on,” Lucifer says, using the hand that isn’t occupied crushing Dean’s to spin him around and shove him violently against the wooden pillar. “I can give you everything you’ve been yearning for, lo these many years,” he snarls, pinching Dean’s neck. “Everything this uptight yuppie of an Angel’s been holding back from you.”

God, this is so fucked up. Lucifer has Cas's body pressed up against Dean's and it feels like him and smells like him, and Dean is scared out of his mind but for some stupid fucking reason he can feel his dick getting hard. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with him?

“Get off me, you sick fuck,” Dean growls, even though he’s pretty sure it’s pointless.

“When I’m good and ready, Deano. Boy, I gotta say, Castiel sure has some pent up feelings when it comes to his precious little human. So desperate to play the hero again. Drag humanity out of the darkness just like he dragged you out of Hell way back when.”

“Bullshit.”

“True story. And man, Cas sure will be kicking himself over this one. Even if he does manage to boot me after I defeat Amara, he is never gonna forgive himself for this doozy."

“What doozy?”

“Oh, Dean, sweetie. Haven’t you figured it out yet? Amara’s only weakness is you. If you’re the key, she’s one of those super-creepy Victorian wind up toys. Catch my drift? You die, and she just… runs outta juice.” 

Dean’s stomach flips and he suddenly feels dizzy. The thought had occurred to him, but to hear Lucifer say the words, in Cas’s voice no less…. is something altogether different. 

“Then just do it. Kill me, and get this all over with.”

Lucifer holds him firm against the thick wood beam, like Dean’s some kind of criminal he’s about to shove in the back of his cop car. 

“Are you kidding me? I’ve got a way better idea,” he says, his lips inches from Dean’s ear. “See, I’m just gonna make sure every demon, vamp, ghoul, and werewolf in the entire freakin’ world knows the score. Hell, I’ll even make sure hunters get in on it. So I just sit back and enjoy the show that is your sad train-wreck of a life. Place some bets. See how long you manage to last.”

“Go ahead and—”

“—Of course, maybe you’ll just take care of things yourself. Slit your wrists listening to The Cure or drive your precious car off the edge of Hoover dam. Save everyone some trouble. But that wouldn’t be quite as much fun to watch so, you know—” he says, his voice turning from menacing to cheerful on a dime, “—don’t give up hope, buddy.”

“Fuck you.”

“Only one of us here is fucked, Dean,” he hisses. He twists and tightens his grip on Dean’s hand, no longer holding back any of his strength. As searing pain tears up and down his arm, Dean feels the bones snap like wet twigs. 

Satisfied, Lucifer tosses Dean off the bandstand, head first into a tree. “And it sure as Hell ain’t me.”

 

\------

 

For what seems like forever, the sharp bite of snow underneath him and the bonfire of pain in his hand are all jumbled up with visions of angry mobs with torches and pitchforks surrounding the bunker and Cas—the real Cas, leading the way. Dean’s bruised brain has gone primitive, and there’s no discerning anymore between physical and emotional pain and all he can do to survive is curl himself into a ball in the dark shadows of the trees like some kind of wounded animal separated from his pack. 

And then: “Dean? Dean, look at me, man. Dean!”

Big warm hands grab at his face. Familiar hands. “Ssss-sss-sssa—“

“Hey. Hey, that’s it,” Sam says, pulling his jacket off one arm at a time so he can maintain contact. “Stay with me. You’re freezing, buddy. Gotta stay awake.”

Sam needs to know, so Dean works hard to shape the letters with his numb lips and shuddering jaw, “L-l-lu-ci-fer…” 

“I know,” Sam says, hoisting Dean up a little and wrapping his parka around Dean’s shoulders. “Just got word from Crowley.”

Dean’s cradling his hand to his chest, and Sam eases Dean’s other hand away from it to get a look. “Jesus, Dean! He did this to you, in Cas’s body?”

Shit. It must look as fucked up as it feels.

Gingerly, Sam eases a supporting arm under Dean’s wrecked one, and Dean flinches and nods. Something wet slides down the edge of his face and Sam stares at him like he knows everything, even though that’s impossible. Still, it makes all the pain feel more raw and exposed, and part of him wants to curl back into a ball in the snow and just let himself freeze to death.

Sam sighs, “Goddamnit, Cas,” and anchors his free arm around Dean’s waist, preparing to hoist him off the ground. “Why?”

 

\--------

 

Once Dean’s settled in a room, hooked up to an IV, covered in a few heavy blankets and finished puking his guts out, they finally let Sam in to see him.

He stands next to a stalky red-haired nurse at the end of Dean’s hospital bed, pinching his lower lip while she gives him the low-down.

“Mild hypothermia. Minor concussion. Some first degree frostbite on his cheeks. And seven fractures in his fingers, hand and wrist. Pretty rough night.”

Sam shakes his head. “You have no idea.”

“Anyways, we’d like to monitor his vitals for a few hours. Let him finish the codeine drip, warm up a little more. Then he’s all yours.”

Sam nods and the nurse slips away. Together, he and Dean look down at the hulking cast that covers most of Dean’s hand and ends just above his elbow. Swaddled in a layer of bandages and propped up on a pillow, it dwarfs the fingertips that peek out of the end. The pain is still there, but it doesn’t skate up his arm as much. It stays in place like a Rottweiler gnawing quietly on its Kong instead of on the mailman’s ankle. 

This not talking thing is nice though. Especially if it means Sam isn’t going to start throwing questions at him left and right. _Why did Lucifer come to you? What did he say? Did he tell you anything? Why are you so quiet? How long did you think he was Cas?_

_How far did he get?_

Jesus. Like that’s his biggest problem right now. Because when Dean tells Sam what Lucifer’s plan is, Sam’ll make them run. Hide from anyone who might try to kill Dean until they can come up with some cockeyed plan to stop Amara and Lucifer on their own. And that might be what they should do. But what if it isn’t? What if Dean doesn’t want to run?

He needs to think. Too bad his brain feels like burnt S’mores.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam finally says, and like always, sounds like he’s trying to convince himself rather than Dean.

Dean wants to say something to let Sam know he _is_ okay (his usual M.O.) but he can’t come up with anything convincing. So he just nods.

“Do you need anything?”

The question seems absurd. Unanswerable. Dean closes his eyes and presses his cheek against the thin, scratchy pillowcase. The sound of a chair being dragged along the floor is followed by a sigh, and Sam’s breath hitting the back of Dean’s neck.

“Okay. It’s okay. Just… rest. Enjoy the codeine while it lasts,” he says, squeezing Dean’s knee.

Sam’s not pushing. Because Dean’s still in the hospital, concussed. Or because he thinks Dean’s high on painkillers. But he’ll push soon enough. Always too soon.

 

\---FIN----


End file.
